In this series of four stories, we are highlighting students whose “Why I Learn Languages” essays have been selected as winners of the Trinity Language Council’s 2024 Best Essay competition. Charlotte Yew Huixin is a sophomore majoring in Sociology and Public Policy, with a minor in Asian and Middle Eastern Studies (AMES) focused on Korean. Read and let Yew tell you, in her own words, how learning languages helped unveil layers of affection in her grandmother’s native Hokkien.
“Mama, can I switch the channel? Evil Temptation should be starting soon on tVN… MAMA… MAAAMAAAA!” Ten-year-old me yells in Mandarin, impatiently waving my hands in front of my grandmother’s face in a bid to get her attention.
Startled, Mama gives me a blank stare and frown.
“Did you hear me??? The 6 p.m. Korean soap opera we like is starting now!!! Remember, the one with the woman who died-but-didn’t-really-die, then draws a mole beneath her eye, is suddenly unrecognizable, and tries to seduce her cheating ex-husband to get her revenge?” Exasperated, I speak even louder and gesticulate wildly to make my point.
“Aiya… You should have just said so… I can hear you just fine… If you want something, you should just say it nicely…” Mama grumbles in Hokkien. I give her a sheepish grin.
Picking up the remote control, she deftly maneuvers it without so much as a glance down, pressing all the right buttons to get us to the right channel. She has memorized by heart each television channel’s number, their best offerings and the broadcast schedule.
As the familiar title sequence of Evil Temptation plays, we settle into a strained silence. I studied Mandarin in school, but the Southern Chinese dialect of Hokkien, which my grandmother was more fluent in, was essentially gibberish to me. With its harsh inflections and staccato intonations, laced with unfamiliar fragments of Malay and Tamil, Hokkien sounded dissonant, abrupt and difficult to follow. Combined with Mama’s hearing impairment, what was already an abrasive-sounding language was amplified by her loud voice, echoing throughout the house.
Despite the fifty-year age gap, Mama and I bonded over a shared love for Korean soap operas. We would sit together, entranced by the complex storylines, swooning when the male lead saved his love interest from danger and exchanging disgruntled opinions about the female lead’s pesky mother-in-law. With my grandparents as my main caretakers when my parents were at work, much of my time was spent with them in front of the television, engrossed in whatever Korean drama was playing.
This introduction to Korea sparked a ten-year-long fascination with the culture. What started as a shared pastime evolved into a deep interest in Korean music, food, customs, history and international relations. Watching these shows, I was captivated by the vibrant world they portrayed, which led me to explore other aspects of Korean culture.
When I finally visited Seoul in December 2022, I was determined to watch a World Cup match at Gwanghwamun Square. Years of consuming Korean media had equipped me with conversational Korean, and I began chatting with a group of soccer fans seated next to me. We exchanged social media accounts, and I learned about their lives as young adults in Korea. They were surprised at how much I knew, expressing pride that their culture was being embraced internationally. Inspired by how I could spark connections with just a few phrases, I was motivated to take formal Korean lessons to deepen my understanding and further immerse myself in the culture I had grown to love.
Immersing myself in another culture and learning its language enabled me to meet people from different walks of life, fundamentally altering my worldview. I realized that my story is no more special than anyone else's and that everyone has a valuable story to tell. However, this realization also made me aware of a missing piece in my own cultural puzzle: I had wholeheartedly embraced another culture while neglecting my own.
I was able to converse with strangers in the middle of Seoul, yet I could barely hold a conversation with my grandmother in my own home. Unknowingly, I had even adopted Korean mannerisms but had shunned Hokkien because of how unrefined it seemed — a dialect historically associated with the working class and older generations.
Ten years late, I began taking baby steps to speak Mama’s language. Like a toddler learning to talk, I repeated phrases I heard often, gradually picking up the vernacular. I initiated conversations with Mama, responding in my stuttering, broken Hokkien. Though far from perfect, Mama seemed to appreciate my efforts. She chuckled when I mispronounced a word, inadvertently changing its meaning, and would correct me with an amused smile.
Through these conversations, Mama recognized my sincerity and gradually opened up about her life. Orphaned as a young girl in post-war Singapore and adopted by a Hokkien lady, Hokkien was Mama’s connection to the only family she knew. Each syllable from her mouth, once harsh and grating to my untrained ear, formed sentences that revealed layers of affection from a woman whose childhood was far less carefree than my own. Her brusque words, most frequently asking if I had eaten, reflected the resilience of a young girl who picked up trades just to survive.
Understanding the nuances of Hokkien, I saw how Mama, without much formal education, relied on her instincts to navigate life's challenges. The phrase she frequently used to give out advice, “我的心在跟我说...,” translating to “My heart is telling me…,” taught me to follow my heart as much as my head.
As I continue to learn languages and immerse myself in the diverse cultures at Duke, I remain grounded in my heritage. I remember that while I have the privilege of looking outward to embrace a rich tapestry of global cultures, it was my grandparents' efforts that paved the way for this opportunity. I learn languages to bridge the past and the present, understanding the experiences of my elders who have shaped who I am while connecting with others worldwide, always mindful of the sacrifices that have made this journey possible.